


Peanut Butter

by flinchflower



Series: Flashback [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Childhood, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5126582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flashback #12, Worthy (past day.) John's night owl is up in the middle of the night again, while John is trying to research for a hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peanut Butter

**Author's Note:**

> Not new writing, reposts from original postings on LiveJournal. Glancing these over is going to be my NaNo warmup this month :)

He’s got the boys up at a cabin in the mountains this summer. Dean, at thirteen, had found far too much trouble with boys his own age and John was determined it would stop, so here they were perched on the side of a mountain while John figured out an odd combination of hauntings. Sam had made it perfectly clear that he was all good with the move, so long as he got to see a Yeti. John snorted. Bigfoot. He wasn’t sure if Sam’s curiosity had to do with wondering if they were real, or wanting to hunt one. Probably the former, the kid had spent the last few months memorizing a book of animals Jim had loaned him, habitats, scientific names and everything. Before they’d come up, Jim traded the book on animals for one on plants, and walks with Sam were now unusually quiet, as he frowned at the vegetation around them, occasionally tugging on John’s sleeve to ask a question. 

He had to be careful, doing laundry now, so he didn’t wind up with the washer clogged with the leaves and twigs that were now common inhabitants of Sam’s pockets. Better than frogs and lizards, he supposed, and had taken the trouble to teach Sam a few rules about collecting things, including a review on poison ivy and it’s compadres. Dean was obviously bored by the whole thing, but a spanking or two prevented him from taunting his younger brother about it, and a quick look at one of Bobby’s spellbooks had him at least marginally interested in becoming comptent at identifying things himself. He’d have a hard time keeping the kid out of a botanica, next time they were someplace that had one. Dean was gonna be dangerous, he thought, taking careful note of the patterns in the weather, the tracks they’d seen, and was just about to start on the file of newspaper clippings that Sam had helped him gather in the library, when he spotted the younger boy standing in the doorway hesitantly.

He frowns. It seems like every couple months Sam had fought with a months long bout of insomnia and gotten himself spanked for his troubles, being in and out of bed like a jack in the box. He hoped it wasn’t going to start again, and beckoned to his youngest. John was smart enough to close his journal, draw a blank sheet of paper over the research before the boy got there. Sam seems to relax as he fetchsup against John’s side. 

“What’re you doin’ up, Sam.”

“I dunno,” said the boy, a little on the pitiful side, if you asked John. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

John pushes his chair back, puts the scrawny kid on his lap. Both of his sons have always been long, thin, and gangly looking, despite the mountain of food he puts into them. Mary…He swallows hard. Mary had just laughed, when it became apparent that Dean would never be cute and chubby, said it would always be like that, and then she’d pinched Sam’s round little cheeks. The way Sam leans into him now, he knows something’s up, because if Sam was trying to avoid bed he’d have been chattering, or worse, sneaked out.

“You know how I feel about you out of bed in the middle of the night, Sammy,” he says gently.

Sam nods. “Uh-huh. I came right here,” he points out frankly.

“I see that.” John leans back with his son, then thinks better of it. There’s still books on the table, so he lifts the slight weight of his child with him into the recliner. He’s spent hours rocking in the thing himself, noted with amusement that the boys are in it when he isn’t, and he’s thankful to the hunter who loaned the place to them, thinks he might try and leave something behind to say thank you this time. Stash of blessed ammo, maybe, they’ve got the time and resources to make it. 

Sam doesn’t say anything, and isn’t clinging particularly hard. John runs through their day, not finding anything that would have made Sam nervous or overly wound up, really, the boy ought to be sleeping. If he’d had a nightmare, or fought with his brother, he’d be far clingier. He stops the boy from picking at a scab on his elbow, doesn’t say anything, just takes the small hand in his own with a firm squeeze. Sam’s a little restless, and by this point John’s puzzled. No guilty glances, or fidgets… Maybe Sammy just isn’t adjusted to the new place, John’s had to keep an eye on that before. And then he hears the voracious growl from somewhere in the realm of Sam’s midsection. Well, that’s notice-worthy.

“Must be running on empty. Come on, Sammy,” he says, setting the kid down and taking his hand. He parks the boy at the kitchen table, recalling that it was about this same age that Dean had started doing the same thing – half starved in the middle of the night. Probably about to start growing again. He set a glass of milk down for his boy, and puts together some thick peanut butter sandwiches, same as he’s done with Dean for years. Sam doesn’t say anything, just makes some serious inroads on the sandwiches and milk as John watches, taking down the grocery list from the counter and adding a few items to it. Sam’s blinking sleepily as the food settles.

He’s still not entirely certain that there isn’t something bothering his youngest boy, though, so when Sam’s through, he puts a warm hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Can I tuck you back in, or do you want to sit with me for a while,” comes the gentle question. He doesn’t spend enough time doing this, he thinks. 

“With you,” comes the immediate answer, and if he wasn’t so tired, John thinks his face would’ve lit up. He simply takes Sam back into the living area, and sits down in the rocker with him, covering the thin limbs up with a quilt. It’s chilly up here at night, and an extra blanket won’t hurt when he lays Sam back down. Rocking quietly, his big hand rubbing up and down the fragile spine, it doesn’t take Sammy long to fall fast asleep.

John just watches the boy sleep, and holds him there for longer than he should.


End file.
